The progress of refinement is the same in individuals as in nations-it grows almost imperceptibly and gradu ally the possession of one object only excite the desire of gaining that which is yet to be acquired. Mary, from her garden made a transition to her dwelling. She had admired the pleasing pictures which some books exhibited of rural comfort and happiness, and she persuaded her brother to join her in renovating the old house, the exterior of which he dashed, thatched, and whitewashed, whilst Mary cleansed and regulated the interior. The old couple regarded this innovation at first with some degree of displeasure; but as Mary was looked on by the neighbours as a prodigy, they gave no resistance, until at length they experienced how much the pleasures of life can be increased by useful industry. Jack agreed to talk and smoke less in future, and gave assistance to his son in the management of the land; whilst Mary and her mother augmented the general comfort by new sources of industry. The wheel was heard for the first time in Wilson's kitchen; and, in addition to clothing her father and brother, Mary appeared at Mass every Sunday in a neat dress purchased by the proceeds of her own labour. In the neighbourhood lived a young man, named Lambert, remarkable for his sobriety and industry; he managed a small farm for his mother, who being desirous to see her son settled for life, had applied to the priest for his advice, who eagerly recommended Mary Wilson. The interposition of the good clergyman soon brought the young people to consider their union very wise and very natural. They talked over how they should do in future, reckoned how easily they could pay their rent, and how good their children would be. The day being fixed for the ceremony, they went to town to purchase the wedding clothes, came home, and were the happiest people in the world over Wilson's fire; but never were happy more! Lambert had risen, with the intention of returning home; he had taken his hat, snatched a kiss from his intended bride, and retreating hastily from her smiling displeasure when he was forced back abruptly by the confused entrance of a number of men, whose faces were concealed by slouched hats, ог so artfully blackened that they could not be recognised. Some of them had sticks, some rusty old guns, and others had swords of all shapes and countries. Their ultimate intention was evidently hostile, whilst their dress plainly evinced they were of the poorer class of the people. One of them who showed his importance by dropping his gun perpendicularly on the floor, and throwing his tall figure into an erect position, explained the reason of their visit. They were in search of arms; but, being strangers in that part of the country, they merely called to request Wilson to go with them to those houses in which he knew they were to be found. The whole family remonstrated against such a proceeding. Young Wilson had a gun, to which they were welcome; but to accompany men who were unknown, for the purpose of robbing those who were their neighbours, was a position in which Wilson desired not to be placed. Mary was terrified to silence; but her mother seconded her husband in refusing to go on so lawless an errand. Her objections were accompanied with some displeasing remarks on the policy of such proceedings. God knows,' she said, such madness and folly have brought misery enough on the country. The Peelers (Police) have got blood enough by such gun-hunting: much better for such night-strollers to be at home with their wives and children than disturbing honest people at this unseasonable hour. No wonder we have cants (auctions) every day through the country, and every assizes hangings and gibbetings: good can't come of such business, and so Father M'Dermott says, who, God bless him, should curse you from the altar-so he should.' Wilson seconded his wife's observations by advising the banditti to abandon such lawless pursuits, assigning many reasons for his advice, and ending with inviting them to be seated, as he had a bottle of potteen in his cupboard. 6 Keep your potteen,' said one of them, 'you cowardly poltroon,' at the same time taking the mask from his face, an example which the others followed, when Wilson, to his utter astonishment, beheld his own neighbours, every one of whom he knew except their leader, who, under such circumstances, is always brought from a distance, that his voice may not be recognised. They all joined in reproaching Wilson and his family for not joining the cause, swearing that, as he was then and would afterwards experience the benefit of their labours and dangers, he should also be made to partake of them. They then gave him to understand that he would be obliged to take the necessary oaths to-morrow; for their policy would not permit any man to refuse without immediately inflicting the penalty. Wilson knew too well the consequence of resistance; and, though he condemned the practice, his limited understanding approved of the theory. Consequences were too distant and too acute for the conception of his contracted understanding; but he had heard and knew of certain benefits, and that was sufficient conviction for himself. Instances were fresh in his memory of farms remaining with the old tenants, because no other person dare bid for them; and tithes were not so severely enforced since the old proctor was made to ride upon a saddle of thorns. Besides, the dread of being called a coward, and perhaps an informer, was not to be anticipated but with horror; for an Irish peasant would much rather suffer the most ignominious death than submit to the charge of being either a coward or an informer. The banditti obliged Lambert and the two Wilsons to accompany them, leaving Mary and her mother to all the horrors of fear and apprehension. Every hour of the night was to them as tedious as the progress of the messenger who bears a reprive to a convicted crimi nal: every blast of wind that shook the trees enticed Mary to the door to see if they were returning; but hour passed after hour, and no appearance of father, brother, or lover. The mother and daughter alternately wept and prayed: every saint in the calendar was invoked, and every future moment was expected to bring them home, whilst every disappointment either excited new hopes, or conjured up all the horrors which suspense creates in an alarmed imagination, The nocturnal marauders had succeeded in gaining possession of some old and useless fire-arms, and were proceeding to a house at some distance, where they expected to find a large supply, when, having travelled about a mile and a half, their approach was noticed by a military party, who were out that night scouring, as the soldiers call it, the country. The commander of the detatchment filed his men on each side of the road, with orders to close on the Whiteboys as they passed. Discipline is better than force or courage: the party came up; the soldiers obeyed the instructions of their superior; and the Whiteboys not having either discipline or prudence, resisted for a while with desperate energy, but were ultimately obliged to surrender to the methodical courage of the soldiers, who proceeded to count their prisoners aloud, and to take down, by a light which they struck, the name of each. Wilson then found that his son and five others were killed in the affray. : Be Mary's dreadful suspense was dissipated, the next morning, by a conviction of the melancholy truth. The whole country was in a state of alarming agitation; and, as Mary's sufferings were also those of others, she bore them with greater fortitude, in consequence of a participation of sorrow. She had lost her brother, but others had lost their fathers and husbands. sides, the feelings of Mary for herself were comparatively trifling her mother's frienzied distraction engaged the consoling influence of all her powers; and, in adducing reason and religion for calming her perturbed affliction, she imperceptibly mitigated the poignancy of her own. Grievous as the case was, it might have been worse: her brother was dead, but then her father lived. Her intended husband, too, was spared by Heaven; and, though she could not tell whether she loved him better than her brother-because she loved them both affectionately-yet surely she ought to be thankful that even one of them escaped with his life. Still her father and Lambert were in prison, but they were innocent: the justice of the country would, in proper time, when their characters were established, liberate them. Such were the arguments poor Mary made use of to tranquillize her mother, and impart false confidence to her own mind: but when she reflected that their landlord was an absentee, living in London, and that scarcely any one of consequence resided in the vicinity of her father who knew him, a sudden thrill of horrible uncertainty came over her. At such times she sought the little summer house in her garden there her apprehensions caused tears to flow in torrents; and when the fountains of grief were exhausted, she endeavoured to interest Heaven in her behalf by prayers pure, holy, and fervent. The weakness of human nature must seek strength in Heaven; for the miseries of man would be without consolation were he prohibited from hope or prayer. Wilson's wife visited him in prison every second day, carrying with her such little necessaries as humble poverty could, with difficulty, procure. Mary, when she did not go herself, always took care to send something particular to Lambert; her virtuous heart began to feel for him already all the passionate affection of a wife; for, however ardent and steadfast maiden love may be, truth must still acknowledge that it is far inferior to the strong and hallowed affection of married fondnessas much so as the chaste light of the moon is surpassed by the full blaze of the meridian sun. Mary saw her betrothed husband in more lights than one, each of which assisted to establish in her bosom somewhat of a romantic passion; he was the patient companion of her father, whom she adored; and he was the object whom she considered best suited to supply that place in her affection left vacant by the loss of a beloved brother: besides, she looked on him as entitled, by honour and religion, to her attention and care. On leaving the prison, which she frequently visited, she always gave the voluntary kiss of a daughter's love to her father, and then suffered Lambert, without much resistance, to take that of a lover. Having thus, in some measure, contributed to the happiness of both, she returned to her mother full of hope and tranquility; for the virtuous heart is never better pleased than when conscious of having done its duty. As the assizes approached, a greater bustle was apparent throughout the country. The only milch cow of the poor man was driven to the fair to get money to fee a lawyer to defend his son; and the wife, in her afflicted poverty, was preparing to sell the seed corn and family potatoes to pay the attorney for attending in behalf of the father of her children. Mary's mother exerted all her industry to prepare for her husband's trial. Gentlemen within the circuit of twenty miles were all supplicated by her for their interest; but all whose name inspired her with some hope of support she found were either in Dublin, London, or Paris. Fatigued with travelling from Clonmel to Cashel, and from the seat of one gentleman to the castle of another, her frame began to give way under such ceaseless exertion. The mind is influenced by the state of the body: the poor woman, the week preceding the assizes, sunk hopeless and exhausted in anticipation of the most overwhelming and fatal consequences: the anxiety and vigilant solicitude of Mary for the prisoners were only equalled by her tender attention to her mother, who now began to show symptoms of approaching decay, too visible to be mistaken. The long-wished for, but still dreaded, assizes came. The road to Clonmel was thronged by the country people, who hastened to know the result of the fearful day. Among the most worn and dejected was Mary. She left her mother helpless, and was proceeding to witness the trial of a father, to whom she could now, for the first time, be of little service. Her husband, in every thing but form, was to be judged that day also. Alas! poor Mary apprehended the worst that could happen. The prisoners were arraigned; and when Mary heard the counts recited against them, and the number which the law imputes various crimes to a man, whom the same law says is to be innocent until convicted-when she saw her father standing, as well as Lambert, within the iron spikes of the dock, and heard the solemn and heavy charges read-her eyes began to swim, her heart sunk within her, and some of her neighbours carried her into the open air. When she recovered, she read, in the unwillingness of all to speak, the dreadful truth. The prisoners received from many, among whom was the parish priest, an excellent character; but as all these were obliged to acknowledge that many men of good characters were frequently implicated in such lawless proceedings, their testimony availed little, particularly as they had been apprehended with weapons, which they had used against his majesty's troops. Appeals to mercy could not be attended to, as the state of the country demanded examples of terrifying severity; for laws must be enforced where they are not respected. Two days only were given the prisoners to prepare for the expiation required by justice! Mary concealed from her mother the result of the trial: she alledged protraction to satisfy her anxiety, and that on the morrow she was to go again. The morrow came, and Mary proceeded to Clonmel to take her last look and last farewell' of all that now could make existence desirable their death she knew would terminate her mother's life, and then she would be alone and friendless. Her grief was too severe for tears; her movements were merely mechanical; and, when she reached the dungeon of the gaol, she scarcely knew where she was. She threw herself on her knees to receive a father's blessing: she hung round Lamberts's neck, and, unasked and unblushingly, gave his lips a thousand kisses. The fond embraces and agonizing tears of her lover soon brought Mary to herself: she wept aloud; but at length submitted to the advice of the attending clergyman. Religion may be despised by the great and unthinking, but it is the only and last friend of poverty and suffering it now supported those with firmness who were so soon to be rewarded with faith and hope. The fatal knell tolled in solemn warning, and the victims of offended laws made their appearance on the platform. Some acknowledged their guilty folly, and warned their countrymen of the danger of illegal association; but Wilson and Lambert declared their innocence, inasmuch as they were forced to accompany those with whom they suffered to the commission of an unexpected offence. They then joined in prayer, in which they were accompanied by Mary beneath the drop. Lambert overheard her devotional breathings; and, just before the fatal drop, he ejaculated Poor Mary!' His last words fixed themselves on the memory of the unhappy girl, who, after the dead bodies were cut down, paid the last duties to the deceased in a kind of bewildered affection. She was observed by the neighbours who attended to carry home the dead to talk in a most extravagant and incoherent manner; but her miserable situation apologised for her conduct, however extraordinary it might be. When Mary arrived at the glebe another cause of distraction met her: her mother had heard from a gossip the fatal information, and immediately expired. Mary fell into a stupefying trance, from which she never wakened to recollection: all she remembers of the past is her lover's last words, Poor Mary!' and these words she repeats a hundred times a day. The dwelling of Wilson is yet standing; from the road it appears the habitation of comfort and tranquillity: but, alas! the appearance is false; decay begins to signify the absence of all inhabitants, and soon it must fall into ruins; for the superstitious credulity of the people induces them to think that the deceased members of the family return from their graves every night to converse with Mary, who still continues its solitary inmate. Mary, in her days of happiness, was a general favorite, and the visitation which destroyed at once her terrestrial felicity and her mind, was so singular and appalling that her fate excites universal sympathy. For many miles round she is visited by those who are enabled, by little presents, to contribute to her comfort or mitigate the miseries of her condition to all who come she makes presents of flowers, so innocent and artless, sighing every moment Poor Mary!' that the words are caught up by those whose bosoms are alive to pity; and, as they learn the wreck of misfortune, they generally add one more to the thousand testimonies of sympathy by writing, on the first substance that will retain it, Poor Mary!' STANZAS. AWAY-AWAY! AND BEAR THY BREAST, Away-away! and bear thy breast To some more pleasant strand! Why did it pitch its tent of rest Though clouds may dim thy distant skies, And love look dark before thee, Yet colder hearts and falser eyes Have flung their shadows o'er thee! It is, at least, a joy to know That thou hast felt the worst, And yet, those far and forfeit bowers The flowers, and one who nursed the flowers, In visions of the night, As her youthful form goes stealing by, But I must make, to bear along Till He, who flowered the prophet's rod, MEMILI. ANARCHY and War, those foes to the happines of mankind, had, like twin demons, with their fire-brands desolated the greatest part of Europe, under the influence of the glory and shame of that quarter of the worldNapoleon; when, for a while, they ceased their work of fury, as if to gain breath for more daring exertions, like the waves of the ocean, whose deadly silence is the herald of the storm that is about to exert their fury. Peace, for a while, smiled cheeringly over the desolate face of Nature, whose flowers were already springing from the dust of the brave, affording a simple monument to their memory, if those who fell in the cause of their country could require any other token or remembrance to keep that sentiment alive in the breasts of their surviving countrymen. It was in the spring of the year 1814, when a young gentleman, belonging to the English army, had concluded a winter at Paris, where, tired with its neverending, though continually cloying, dissipations, he determined to seek, in the calm and secluded valleys of Switzerland, that repose which the fatigues of the preceding dangerous campaign had rendered indispensable for his health. It was a calm and delightful evening when he reached the pride of Europe, the Alps, as they stood, seemingly in conscious grandeur, towering their silver heads into the bosom of the azure firmament. Here, seating himself on a flower-enamelled turf, he revelled in the contemplation of Nature's sublimest efforts; wherever he turned his eyes, it seemed as if she had spread an intellectual banquet to gratify them. If he looked above, he beheld the colossal mountains, crowned with sparkling ice, which knew not the tread of a human foot. On either side the Jungfrau, the Ebenflue, and the Mithaghorn, seemed by their magnificence to court his attention, while beneath him smiled the lovely valley of Lauterbrunn, clothed with every variety of rich and luxuriant scenery: not a breath disturbed the air, and although the echoes of waters rushing down from invisible sources, reverberated like the artillery of a wrathful woe, there was nothing to remind him of life, save the tinkling of the bell of the home-plodding cattle, intermingled with the bleating of a kid, or the whistling of the happy-hearted herdsman. A picture so sublime and elevated, though it fills the heart with delight and admiration, yet imbues it with a sentiment of melancholy, arising most probably from a sense of individual humiliation. How long our traveller would have remained in his meditations is uncertain, were they not disturbed by the sound of footsteps, accompanied by the humming of one of the wild airs that the natives of this romantic country are so fond of dwelling upon. On his looking up to see from whence the sound proceeded, his surprise may be better conceived than described, when, instead of some homely shepherd driving home his flock, he beheld an elegant and beautiful girl. The girls of Switzerland are so peculiarized by their theatrical and engaging dress, that were you to meet one of these mountaineers near her own romantic home, she would make you inclined to believe that the fabled Arcadia was realized, and one of its loveliest idyls sent forth to render the delusion more effective. She, indeed, appeared to the romantic fancy of our youthful traveller, no less than a beautiful, though frail vision. She evidently had not passed her sixteenth year, and, joined to a form the most exquisite possessed the loveliest countenance imagination can picThe silent mirrors of her soul were of an azure blue, protected from his admiring gaze by long and silken lashes; while they tempered the fire of her own passion-fraught glances. She was dressed simply, though elegantly; she wore a corset of velvet with muslin sleeves; a habit-shirt of a snowy surface, beautifully plaited, modestly, though to our traveller's mind, enviously concealing her neck and bosom, and yet not so much as to deprive him of an idea of its exquisite whiteness; a sight was sufficient to remind you— "Of the glimpse ture. That some saint has of Heaven in his dreams." Her petticoat would be, to our English notions, rather too short, and yet he would not have it half an inch less for the world; inasmuch as it gave testimony of an exquisitely shaped leg and well-turned ancle. In this part of the Continent, where, if the inhabitants were to wait for a regular introduction before they spoke to strangers, it is ten to one if they would ever have visitors of any deseription, the reader will, it is to be hoped, forgive Frederic, if he took advantage of the custom of the country, and respectfully accosted the fair stranger, and she herself, when she gave him a hearty welcome. They chatted for a long time together, on subjects which were, in all probability, more interesting to themselves than they would be to the reader: Frederic was a traveller, a soldier, and a man of the world, and, therefore, was not at a loss, to render himself agreeable; while his fair companion was neither deficient in archness nor intelligence, though she occasionally spoke with a child-like simplicity, while at other times she conversed with all the fluency and elegance of a well-bred and accomplished woman. Her words, as they flowed from her rosy lips, sounded more sweetly to his ears, and thrilled more wildly in his heart, than any he had ever yet listened to. In a short time they became as familiar as they would, had they been in this country-after a twelvemonth's courtship. "What is your name, enchanting girl?" exclaimed Frederic." Father calls me Love, but the neighbours, Memili," was her ingenious reply. Having made her acquainted with his name and profession, Memili found very little resistance to her wish for him to spend the evening with her father, assuring her gallant admirer, that the old gentleman's heart, and, what was more, his door, was never shut against a soldier. So great was the influence of the charming girl, that had she requested him to bring some ice from one of the surrounding cloud-capt mountains, Frederic could not have found it in his heart to refuse her. So, consenting to her offer, he accepted of her tiny hand, and a few minutes brought them to her father's dwelling. It was situated in the most romantic and fertile part of the valley, and, from external appearances, gave ample testimony of the comfort and opulence of the interior: a farm-yard was contiguous to the cottage, which was well protected from the sharp winds of the mountains, by a plantation of flourishing young trees. Upon their approach, a bluff, hearty farmer-like looking man made his appearance, and, without, waiting for an introduction gave the young soldier a hearty welcome; and, seizing his hand, bestowed on it such a squeeze, which, if its sincerity may be judged from its fervour, one might suppose was a most friendly one; so much so, that although Frederic was led to believe, by the description of Memili, that he was seized by an individual who was the incorporation of all the cardinal virtues, he, at the moment, thought, by the stagnation of his blood, he was under the influence of a powerful vice In England, we all know what wonderful strengtheners eating and drinking are to friendship-Here, the first step to an intimacy is generally taken through the medium of a good dinner. Young ladies very na. turally fall in love over a cup of tea; while the best thaw for dissolving the frost of ceremony has been, from time immemorial, a glass of good generous wine, Anxious, in all probability, to show the full extent of his sudden friendship, the jolly son of the sickle directed his blooming girl to spread the table with the best the house afforded. Memili was not long in obeying her father's wishes, and, in a few minutes, an excellent supper, and some capital wine, were proofs of her celerity. One would think, by the sparkling animation of Frederic's eyes, and the interesting appetite he displayed, there was certainly a close sympathy between the heart and the stomach. The old gentleman appeared, by the number of toasts he drank in its behalf, and the number of bottles which with Frederic's assistance, were alternately emptied and replenish d, an enthusiastic supporter of the crown as well as of the trade of his country. When, for reasons best known to himself, he thought it most prudent to retire, giving the young people a hint not to be too long in following, "What!"—says our traveller, in a tone which it was difficult to tell whether he was in earnest or jest, .6 What you do not intend, do you, to trust me with your daughter alone?" The happy father smiled, and said, "The man that has served his king, and bled for the honour of his country, is a safe guardian of a woman's honour." Was not this appeal more homethrusting than the most eloquent harangue, or the most pathetic remonstrance, to a soldier's breast? It was a warm, but delicious evening: the atmosphere yielded a soft and delicious balm, which in some degree cooled the temperature of Frederic's blood, which, at no time very cool, the effect of the wine he had drank, or some other cause, had rendered more than usually warm. The wind gently kissed the trees, and nothing was heard but the sound of their own footsteps, and the roaring of the cascades, reverberating from the distance, like the muttering of an approaching storm. The form of Memili floated through the air, and bounded among the shrubs, like a chamois on its native mountain. As if influenced by the gaiety of the moment, she became a lively and frolicsome romp. At this instant a satisfactory proof was given, that wine is of very little assistance to the memory,-for it seemed as if the parting injunction of the old farmer had entirely escaped from Frederic's mind; for Memili caught hold of his hands, and, pressing them to her bosom, said, in a tone that might have melted the ice on the mountain-top above them, "Don't forget yourself, Frederic,-remember, I am but a woman." Unfortunately, he had forgot she was such; but she lifted her large blue eyes, and shot into the recesses of his soul a glance so full of tenderness and confidence, that it had more effect upon his brave heart, than a chapter of Plato would, or the best sermon that ever was preached on morality. The selfdenial that glance occasioned ought to qualify him for a place in the next edition of Fox's Book of Martyrs. Memili, for some reason of her own, now thought it high time, to lead her gallant guest homewards. When the morning arrived, an invitation that was not to be refused was given, by his host, to spend the day with them, which Frederic accepted with infinite satisfaction. At breakfast she seemed to regard him with an arch observation, as if to feel assured that he had recovered from his preceding evening's elevation, which, to Frederic, was the severest punishment she could inflict -and he endeavoured, in every way in his power, to assure her how very steady he had become,-but she only looked at him the more maliciously: but this concern, however, was soon dissipated, for Memili, whereever she went, carried mirth and hilarity along with her;—indeed, the very poultry, seemed to share the influence her beautiful and happy countenance diffused. As soon as she made her appearance, the whole of the subjects of her kingdom,-pigeons, cocks, hens, turkeys, ducks, geese (the last are generally in the train of a pretty woman's adorers), of all breeds, sizes, and colours, flocked around her. At the sight of their favourite, they cooed, crowed, gobbled, and cackled, with the sincerest delight;-even a venerable sow, with a litter of pigs, seemed animated at her presence: as for her lover, he thought nothing in the world could be more melodious than the grunt an affectionate pig set up, by way of testifying her welcome visit. The cocks flocked around her, and described, in marvellous melting accents, all the domestic broils that had taken place between them and their hens; and their mates very carefully related all the little infidelities of their spouses that had reached their eyes or their ears. The ducks waddled with all the expedition their fat would allow them, and recounted the best part of the scandal of the farm-yard since her last visit. Memili seemed to make no distinction, but had a kind word for each,-so much so that Frederic would willingly have transformed himself into a bantom cock for the sake of being so endearingly addressed. The ceremony of feeding the poultry being concluded Memili led the way to their best room of the farmhouse here, to his infinite astonishment, he beheld a modern instrument, on which she played with great taste and judgment, though without any extraordinary share of science. Frederic was too old a soldier to surrender on the first assault; and a proposal of marriage and a kiss yet remained undecided on his life: but, when she accompanied the instrument with her divine voice, before the song was half over, plump was he on his knees, and " Dearly-bewitching little creature, if you won't be my wife, i'll run away with you, in spite of your hallooing, and your father's blunderbusses." Memili, at the sight of his extravagant gestures, gave vent to a long and continued laugh, which was only interrupted by his catching her in his arms, and half smothering her with kisses. "Don't kill me quite, Frederic," and she shot at him a glance so wicked, and yet so tender, that her adorer energetically replied, No, I'll be hanged If I do :-say, dearest girl, will you marry me ?" "What! you unreasonable wretch, after eight and forty hours' acquaintance? -Don't think that I will suffer my prerogative of teasing and plaguing you before marriage to be infringed upon." Pshaw? you cruel girl,—will you marry me?"-" 1'll tell you," said she, " if you will let me go." As soon as he released her, she clapped her hands and cried, Yes, if you can catch me ;" and off she was, like an arrow from an archer's bow. Frederic lost no time in following her, but he was scarcely out of the house before he beheld her up one of the highest mountains, laughing most maliciously at his vain attempts to follow her; over brushwood and brier--from crag to crag -down precipices and up cliffs; she skipped like an aulis just freed from its mother.“ Egad," said Frederic, "this is no fun;" and repeated to himself those lines which I would most earnestly recommend to all in the same situation : "A lover forsaken a new love may get, But a neck, when once broken, can never be set." As he was very cautiously descending, he beheld his darling girl, on a narrow pass, over-hanging a dreadful precipice; one false step would have been fatal, and there was no other way of returning but through the dangerous defile she had already ventured. Just at this moment, he beheld the ground near his adored mistress give way, and sink with a terrific sound into the yawning abyss beneath; all chance of escape now appeared an impossibility, and Frederic's agony was in |